


Sickly Sweet

by remembersports



Category: IT (1990), IT (2017)
Genre: Drug Use, F/M, M/M, Multi, also pairings r kinda minor, bad ghost hunting, just some pals hangin out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 23:42:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12970995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remembersports/pseuds/remembersports
Summary: It's a hot summer day and Stan hates his bike, Mike's lemon tree finally loves him and Richie spends $20 "wisely"





	Sickly Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> hmmm so idk if this is any good, its my first longer fic but it was requested on tumblr so here is!! u can follow me and send requests @ emoboyuris

One of Stan’s favorite places on planet earth is definitely the farm that Mike and his grandfather live on. Yesterday, Mike took time to call each one of the losers and invited them to come over to hang out and try out his fresh squeezed lemonade; he spent almost all year trying to get his lemon tree to produce fruit and judging by the exuberance in his voice, he finally succeeded.

Today is a hot day, Stan can feel the sticky drops of sweat cascade down his forehead and pool on the tops of his eyebrow hairs as his feet move rapidly on the pedals of his bike. His thighs are starting to get sore, the sweat actually stings his skin and Stan really regrets not accepting Richie’s offer when he asked if he wanted a ride. It’s not his fault that an almost five-mile bike ride sounded more pleasant than riding in the bed of his friend’s rusty pickup truck.

When he can finally see Mike’s place in the distance, Stan hops off and decides to walk his bike the rest of the way. There are no cars in sight, so he takes advantage of the situation and walks in the middle of the road, where it’s smooth and freshly paved. The pain in his thighs is slightly decreasing, but his jean shorts continuously ride up and rub against his knees uncomfortably. He lets out an irritated huff, the air disturbing the placement of a few of his curls. He shakes his head to rearrange his messy bird’s nest like hair and continues walking.

-

Mike is walking out the back door, holding a large pitcher of his freshly made lemonade when he hears Stan curse as he drops his bike next to the bright blue mailbox and proceeds to trip on it. He stifles a laugh, sets the pitcher down on a wooden picnic table, rushes over to where his friend is bending over brushing the small rocks and pebbles out of the grooves of his knees and gently tugs one of his curls while he’s still ducking down. He can’t help but snicker.

Stan raises his head and sticks out his tongue. “Fuck off asswipe, you have no right to laugh at my misery, especially if you’ve done the same.”

Mike laughs for real this time and takes Stan’s hand, guiding him to the picnic table and totally doesn’t focus on the way Stan’s long, slender fingers feel wrapped around his own.

-

They finish setting up the table together, taking turns to run inside and bring out an assortment of snacks, cups, and plates. The rest of the group arrives shortly after Stan walks out holding a bag of nacho cheese Doritos and closes the back door, allowing it to close with a loud squeak.

Richie aggressively pulls his truck into the driveway, nearly running over Stan’s bike. He’s about to run towards the back, but he gets distracted when he sees Stan.

“Hey-o! Stan the Man! Haven’t seen ya since the last time I banged your mom!” he exclaims, running up with his arms open, ready to pull Stan into a tight embrace. Before he can, Bev comes up behind him and smacks the top of his head.

“You left your heavy ass box of so-called ghost hunting equipment on Eddie’s lap and he’s literally about to piss his pants, ya dingus,” Bev says, forming air quotes with her hands as she says ‘ghost hunting equipment’ and steals what would’ve been Richie’s hug. Eddie starts wailing Richie’s name desperately somewhere in the distance.

Richie scoffs and runs back to his truck, shuffling his feet in the grass and getting his red converse covered in dark green stains. When he returns, his shoelaces are untied, and he’s struggling to carry over an enormous cardboard box. Bill and Ben are trying to help, but Richie refuses.

Mike turns to Bev as they watch Richie almost trip every three steps he takes. “What’s this about ghost hunting gear I hear?” he questions, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from pointing out his accidental rhyme.

Bev rolls her eyes and sits down on top of the picnic table and looks back at Mike.

“He made us stop at a yard sale on the way here and he paid a whole ass $20 bucks for the box, only because it was labeled ‘ghost hunting gear’,” she scrunches her nose. “He hasn’t even looked inside, we just know it’s heavy and it cost him his gas money for the rest of the week.”

As she finishes her sentence, Richie practically launches the box onto the table and it lands with a loud thud. Stan flinches a little and Mike puts a hand on his shoulder.

Richie is panting, out of breath and there is a sweat stain forming on the front of his bleach hole covered shirt. Bev looks at him and lets out a mocking laugh.

“Been skipping arm day Tozier?” she quips. Richie blows a raspberry at her and continues to try and catch his breath.

Whilst that is happening, Eddie is angrily marching up to the table, holding a Mountain Dew bottle with two fingers as far as he possibly can from his body. The grimace on his face is so twisted and full of rage that he doesn’t even slightly resemble himself. Ben and Bill, clearly know something that the rest of the group don’t know, since they’re both covering their mouths, trying to hide equally large grins.

Richie finally stops panting and looks up at Eddie almost meekly. He sees the bottle in his hands and a shit-eating grin immediately spreads across his pale, spotted face. “Aw Eds, you brought a drink? for me?” he questions in the same tone Bev used with him earlier.

Eddie snarls and throws the bottle at him, “If you really want to drink my piss go ahead, trashmouth” he retorts. Richie just playfully pouts and jokingly flutters his eyelashes before picking the bottle, preparing to throw it away.

When Eddie doesn’t drop his scowl, Richie sticks his lip out even further and says, sounding more genuine this time, “Ed’s, baby, I’m sorry for making you carry a box that was too heavy for you to lift! I’m sorry you couldn’t hold it until you ran into the house and had stick your little tic tac dick in a bottle!” Eddie snatches the bottle out of his hands and throws it at him again.

“T-that was one h-h-hell of an entrance,” Bill says still laughing and Bev slaps the top of his head, trying to hold in laughter herself. When Richie finally manages to get Eddie to calm down, they sit down at the picnic table with the rest of the losers. They’re somewhat evenly dispersed on the two benches, Ben, Eddie, Richie on one side and Bev, Ben, Mike and Stan on the other. If anyone can see Mike and Stan holding hands under the table, they don’t say anything.

Everyone has been congregated at the table for at least half an hour and Mike’s lemonade hasn’t been touched by a single person. He’s kind of offended, so he lets go of Stan’s dainty, pale hand and sits up, ready to serve the lemonade. It originally had ice cubes in it, but they melted almost an eternity ago. Mike knows his friends won’t care. He pours an even amount of the pale yellow liquid into each cup, making sure not a single drop slips off of the edge of either vessel and onto the vinyl tablecloth.

For the next half hour or so, they sit just talking to each other, sipping the sickeningly sweet lemonade and sharing the sizable assortment of sweet and savory snacks that Mike and Stan had moved to the table previously.

When they finally get sick of Richie obnoxiously chewing on red vines and getting them stuck between his teeth just to piss Eddie off, Mike hops off of the bench and taps the top of Richie’s giant ‘ghost hunting gear’ box and looks at Richie with a facial expression that begs for approval. Richie looks up at Mike and beams at him, displaying the red licorice between his too big teeth and shouts, “Let’s open the fucking box, muchachos!”

They all stand in front of the box as Mike and Richie excitedly tear the box open. None of them dare to admit it but the idea of ghost hunting does sound quite appealing.

Richie is the first one to look inside after they tear off the flaps. He dunks his entire head into the box and pulls it out with a crestfallen look on his face. Without looking, Mike reaches into the box to pull out whatever caused his friend’s disappointed behavior. When he takes out his hands and pulls out a fucking Furby, Ben almost screams and Eddie starts laughing. Richie groans and opens the box properly, revealing 3 more furbies, two fifth grade science textbooks, a star wars VHS tape, a stack of romance novels, an actual fucking cinder block and a smaller box.

After seeing the smaller box, he perks up a little and quickly goes to open it. Inside of that one, there are 2 flashlights, a dozen tea light candles, a set of neon orange walkie-talkies, a motion sensor digital camera, a voice recorder, an emf meter and several Polaroid pictures of shadowy figures and bright white orbs. Of course, Richie automatically starts flailing his limbs around yelling “I told you so” in Bev’s awestruck face. Coming to his girlfriend’s defense, Ben threatens to throw the cinderblock at his face.

-

Ben and Mike are beginning to map out the places near the farm that may be more active when Bill chimes in and says that they should wait until it starts getting darker outside.

“So w-we can see orbs m-more clearly!” he says and a very impatient Richie groans and mimes elbowing his stomach.

“Hey? trashmouth, fuck off. We can go play with the chickens in the meantime,” Eddie says, snapping his fingers directly in Richie’s face and the contempt seems to diminish off the boy’s face almost immediately.

“We’ll just have to let our parents know and then I’ll be able to grant your every wish, spaghetti man,” he lets out right as Eddie let out an exasperated huff.

“Don’t call me that, Dickhead,” Eddie retorts. Richie replies by ruffling his hair and kissing his forehead.

-

After everyone (besides Mike) took time to call their respective parents to let them know they were going to be sleeping away from home for a night, they sat at the picnic table, getting ready to separate into small groups and do their own thing around the farm.

Richie and Eddie were the first to leave, practically skipping arm in arm while Richie excitedly babbled about visiting his favorite chicken, who he named Bok Bok Choy. Eddie doesn’t care too much for the smelly birds, but he sure does like watching Richie get pecked whenever the chickens decide that his repetitive coos become too much to handle.

Beverly and Ben always stick together, and this time was no different. The couple walked slowly, hand in hand to the open field where the sheep were currently roaming. They liked to be a cheesy couple, sitting amongst lambs and their mothers, singing corny love songs by popular boy bands. Ben almost always ends up falling asleep, usually lulled by Bev’s melodic voice singing the incorrect lyrics to New Kids On the Block’s Step by Step.

Bill, Mike, and Stan always sneak off into the trees behind the main area of the farm while the others are fucking around and this time it’s no different. As soon as Richie starts complaining about the chickens pecking at his duct tape and grass stain covered converse, Mike takes Stan’s hand and drags him behind the barn, past the big oak trees and to a small pond that’s full of lily pads and water hyacinths, Bill trailing a few steps behind them, clutching his leather cover sketchbook and his see-through pencil bag.

They stop under the cool shade of a weeping willow, which is Stan’s favorite place to be because he gets to watch the branches sway back and forth in an almost heavenly manner. Bill sits with his back against the tree trunk, flipping through his sketchbook until he finds the first blank page that he feels comfortable enough to draw on. The grass around the pond is sort of long, but since it’s an area that the three boys frequent, there are patches that are a bit stepped on and pressed down, which make perfect spots to sit and just watch the world move.

Stan is about to sit next to Bill when Mike calls him closer towards the edge of the pond. He’s stomping and shuffling around on the taller pieces of grass, attempting to make space to lay down, which causes Stan to laugh. Mike’s brows are knitted in concentration as he kicks up loose pieces of grass, probably leaving his already battered and torn white converse full of dull green stains. In the end, he sort of gives up, takes off the dark orange cardigan he was wearing and extends it over half of the area that he was trying to flatten down.

“Here’s your first-rate area of rest, my liege,” Mike playfully sweet-talks, bowing down as he motions to his discarded garment. Stan brings his hands up to his chin, creating a sort of pedestal for his face and beams. Mike stands up and holds out his right hand to guide his friend down to the small nest he created on the ground.

In the few moments that their hands are touching, Mike feels so much. The harsh dryness of Stan’s hands feels more pleasant than it looks and Mike can almost sense the heat radiating off his own skin colliding with the surprising coolness of Stan’s. They’ve been randomly holding hands all day and neither of them knows why, but nothing has felt more comfortable, secure and intimate than holding Stan’s hand in his own. It almost seems like it’s not a real feeling, he doesn’t want the touch to end, but Stan has definitely noticed that what was supposed to be a brief gesture turned into a touch that lingered for too long, so he quickly removes his hand from Mike’s as he gently lowers himself down onto the soft cardigan. Mike tries not to look disappointed as he plops down in the grass next to him.

“Doesn’t the grass itch?” Stan questions while scooting over, impossibly attempting to make room for mike on the cardigan. Mike swats his hand to say no, and lays down, feeling the long, sharp blades of grass caress his back as he lowers himself. Watching him intently, Stan decides to do the same. Only his ass is on the cardigan at this point and he frowns as the grass prickles the back of his neck annoyingly. “Michael Hanlon, I thought you knew better than to lie to me, ya old bastard” Mike smirks as he watches Stan get up and pull the cardigan up next to Mike’s head. Stan lays down again, head no longer touching the grass and sighs. Mike rolls his eyes and states, “You’re such a damn princess,” which causes Stan to scoff.

They lay like that in a comfortable silence for a bit, only the sounds of the tree branches rustling in the wind, their soft breathing and the scrtch scrtch of Bill’s pencil accompanying them while they stare up at the clear blue sky.

While Stan focuses more on following the shape of the clouds and the position of the sun, Mike likes to wait for the moment when a leaf or a small twig gets gently be carried down with the wind. It’s interesting to watch the way that the debris twists and turns in the air until it lands on his chest or on the barely existing space between him and Stan. The moment he watches a slightly crumbled leaf land in Stan’s flaxen hair, he cautiously leans over the pale boy’s body and moves specific curls so he can take it out without crushing it and leaving a mess in Stan’s hair. He tries to pick it out attentively, all while Stan awkwardly peers at him wearing a goofy smile, the tip of his tongue pressing out between his teeth. When Mike finally gets out the leaf without breaking it, he lets out an exaggerated sigh and laughs, causing Stan to let out a small fucking giggle, his nose scrunching up and the ends of his eyes crinkling.

Mike can’t do anything except stare at the boy below him, he is practically frozen in awe until Bill looks up from his sketchpad and shouts, “Just f-f-fucking kiss him already y-you damn asshole!” It takes all of Mike’s willpower to not let himself fall on top of Stan and crush him in an exuberant kiss, but luckily Stan beats him to it, jolting up and pressing against Mike so hard that he knocks both of them down. Neither of them cares though, they’re too busy making sure that they stay flush with each other as Mike grips Stan’s hair, keeping their lips together. Bill mockingly makes a disgusted face and goes back to drawing. He’s the one who prompted this, he can’t complain, Ben owes him ten bucks now anyway.

-

As soon as the sun starts setting and the air begins to feel slightly cooler, Mike, Stan, and Bill start heading back to the picnic table where they left the box of Richie’s prized equipment. When they reach their destination, Eddie and Richie are already there, sitting on top of the table. Richie is waving his right arm wildly, yelling about how chickens are assholes and should never be trusted while Eddie holds his left arm in his lap, carefully wrapping Richie’s pecked at fingers in pink Hello Kitty themed bandages. Bill sits down next to them, probably just to call Richie stupid about a million times. Stan and Mike sit down on the actual picnic table bench and wait patiently for Ben and Beverly to show up.

Not surprisingly, they don’t arrive until about half an hour later, and one side of Ben’s face is adorning a dark red color from the time he spent leaning on his girlfriend’s shoulder. He finishes furiously rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and makes eye contact with Bill, who then tilts his head in Stan and Mike’s direction. Ben lets out a defeated whimper and Bev kisses the top of his head and whispers, “I thought I warned you to never mess with Bill and his lame bets, he’s a god damned cheating demon” which gains another pained cry in response.

Getting frustrated and heavily impatient, Richie stands up and runs to the couple, and tugs on the hem of Bev’s dress,”Hurry up ya sheep fuckers, you already took enough to get here! I wanna shove the emf meter up my ass” he says, provoking Bev to flick at the tip of his nose with her middle finger. Nose turning red and all, Richie bounces back to his original position happily, since he’s finally going to get a chance to try and fuck around with a couple of ghosts.

Richie grabs his ghost hunting gear box and begins to march away from the picnic table, the rest of the losers rolling his eyes at him as he shouts “Off into the night we go!” in an awful imitation of a British accent.

-

When Bill and Mike were listing possibly haunted places nearby, they had come up with a long elaborate list of abandoned houses and areas that might’ve once been inhabited by demons. But sadly, since they were dealing with Richie out of all people, he urged them to climb onto his truck so he could drive them off to a park on the other side of the quaint town.

Richie, Eddie, and Bill all got into the actual truck since Eddie kept yelling about how Richie had to make up for the piss bottle incident from earlier. Bill only got roped in because Eddie refused to carry the box (piss bottle incident) and Richie almost started crying when Bill suggest that he carry it while riding in the bed of the truck.

Mike, Stan, Beverly, and Ben all hopped into the bed of the truck without hesitating. Mike loved sitting in the back because he could stretch his legs out as far as possible, Stan liked it because it didn’t smell like Richie’s nasty ass cigarette smoke, Beverly liked it because of the way the wind made her hair flutter everywhere and Ben liked it because it gave him a chance to lean against Bev’s shoulder and point of his favorite constellations to her.

They sit in peace for most of the ride, Stan even decides to lay across Mike’s legs as he whispers the lyrics to whatever muffled song by The Cure can be heard from the front.

Every few songs, Stan notices that Bev starts singing along. He knows that she used to be a pretty big fan of The Cure, but after spending most of her time hanging with her boyfriend, she became accustomed to hearing more top 40s than anything else. Whenever she does sing, Ben looks up at her lovingly from his position on her shoulder. He watches her soft, plum colored lips move along to words with so much adoration, you’d think that she created the concept of being loved. Stan feels his heart swoop when he turns and sees that Mike is looking at him the exact same way.

-

They get to the park at half past nine, when the sun is all the way down and dew is beginning to hint at appearing on long blades of grass. Due to the pent-up excitement, Richie barely even gives himself a chance to take his keys out of the ignition. He hops out of his truck and runs to the back to let his friends out. They get out and meet Bill and Eddie at a bench located almost directly in front of the truck.

Bill is sitting on the bench with Richie’s box on his lap and he’s rifling through its contents. He pulls out the candles and stacks them all on top of each other on the area next to him and Eddie lifts up his leg and purposely kicks them over, earning a shocked “What t-the fuck, you b-b-butthead!” from Bill and a small pinch on his elbow from Bev. Richie ignores them and scoops the candles into the box, which he then carries over to a lonely picnic table.

The park isn’t that big, it’s nothing but a small playground consisting of a swing-set with only two out of six functioning swings and rusty metal slide, an extraordinarily small walkway that wraps around a small pond and a three table picnic area beside the playground, which is where Richie is heading to. The losers follow him, Eddie groaning as he sees the splintered wood of the table. Bev pinches him again and Richie smirks, “Yowza, spaghetti man, are ya scared of a little splinter? You already have a stick up your ass, why not add another?” Bev turns to him and raises her eyebrows as if to say do not test me, Tozier, and Richie motions zipping his lips and locking them with an imaginary key.

Mike holds in a chuckle as he watches the whole exchange before beginning to help Richie unload the contents of the box. Bill takes the candles from him and stacks them up again, this time making sure to swat away at Eddie whenever he dares come close to his leaning tower of tea lights.

Before anyone else can start to pull out random things from the box and fiddle around with them, Bev reaches in and takes a flashlight and walkie-talkie. She shakes them around and laughs when she realizes that neither of them has any batteries. “Richie, dude ‘Chie, you got ripped off more than you thought, none of this shit is going to work,” she chortles, and shoves them into the loose side pocket of her dress anyway. Richie can’t do anything besides pout and scrunch up his nose.

They continue to put everything out on the table, carefully assessing what they have to work with. Mike tries to check everything to make sure that it works, but as soon as Richie picks up the remaining pieces of equipment, he refuses to let go, claiming that someone was going to try and take his job as the “ghost’s baby daddy”. Mike eventually manages to pry everything except the emf meter from him and he takes time to check the camera and voice recorder, both of them surprisingly having fully charged batteries.

After that ordeal is finally over Mike ties his cardigan sleeves together, forming a bag-like object to carry the equipment. He starts walking off with his makeshift bag in hand, leading his friends towards the woods that reside a few steps away from the opposite edge of the pond. Richie runs ahead of him and attempts to form a one-man blockade. Mike stops and knits his eyebrows. “Are you having second thoughts, Rich?” He questions, waiting patiently for Richie to answer. Richie stops his left foot and opens his mouth to complain. “I say, that since it is my ghost hunting gear, I am the one who gets to choose what we do and where we go.” There are various groans scattered throughout the group, but they’ve been waiting the whole day to finally commence their group hunting adventures, so they resign and comply.

Richie hops out of Mike’s way happily and makes his way to the playground, kicking around a few wood chips before sitting down in the middle of the broken swing set. “Stanny Boy! Get your precious ass over here and help me set up these tiny dick candles in a circle,” he calls out, causing Stan to look down at him with a confused expression plastered across his face. “Richie, how can an inanimate object be gendered to the point where it has an actual fucking dick?” Stan cried out, his voice cracking in the process.

Swirling his hand in the air as if to say a-duh, Richie continued, “Ya see Stanothy when something is small, it’s going to have a small dick. This is also what explains Eddie’s situation, it’s basic science!” The mentioned boy ducks to pick up a handful of wood chips and throws them at Richie, most of them landing in his mouth. “Candles can’t fucking have dicks, you fucking moron!“ Stan yells, clearly getting frustrated and Richie giggles, spitting out muddy wood chips in the process.

Once his mouth is free of dirt and wood, Richie laughs again and this time Mike is the one who throws wood chips at him before heading to help Stan arrange the candles. They place them in a circle surrounding the middle section of the swing set, not knowing how that is going to help them on their quest to ghost hunt. When they finish, Richie calls the rest of his friends and motions for them to sit next to him within the circle of lights.

As soon as the greyish green fabric of Beverly’s dress touches the wood chips, Richie perks up. “Bevronica Marsh, the most useful person sitting in this circle, would you mind allowing me to light the candles using your lighter?” he asks, almost rhetorically, holding out his calloused hand to Bev. She places a bright yellow lighter in his hands and adjusts her dress.

Ben looks between the two and finally questions, “Richie, do you even know what you’re doing?” and Richie nods furiously.

“Of course I do! I have a degree in ghost hunting, Haystack! Now you and my other strong boy,” he points his thumb in Mike’s direction, “Should go and pick out some boulders ‘n shit from the edge of the pond and bring ‘em in!” Still not knowing what the hell Richie was planning, Ben and Mike obey, not wanting to get roped into anything more complicated. Richie smiles, pleased with himself and begins to light the candles.

Ben and Mike return carrying four large rocks each. They place them gently in front of Richie and they settle in their original spots once again, Ben between Bev and Mike, who sat beside Stan.

Richie lunges over the rocks and drags them into his lap. He asks Mike for the emf meter and starts holding it up in front of whatever rock happens to be the closest to him after Mike pulls it out from his cardigan. Everyone stays silent while Richie messes with the rocks, completely clueless about what Richie is doing-or attempting to do-because upon further inspection, he’s just pointing a broken emf meter at rocks and muttering things like: “Possessed or not possessed? That is the question.” Bill is the one who points it out. He taps Richie on his right shoulder and Richie looks up from the rocks. Before Bill can say anything, Richie throws the meter at one of the swing-set poles and exclaims, “The fucking bitch is broken! I wasted a whole ass mother fuckin’ twenty big ones on a bunch of hunks of plastic! None of these fuckin’ rocks are haunted anyway!” He throws himself back and huffs, Eddie wincing as he almost lands directly on a lit candle. “I’m sorry I ruined our ghost adventures, you guys,” he whimpers pathetically.

Stan picks up a candle, blows out the flame and tosses it at Richie’s forehead, “Get up Trashmouth, the recorder and camera still work. Maybe if you listen to us this time, we could go into the woods and find some cool shit.” Richie sits up, clearly feeling better almost immediately. Stan thinks it’s better to not point out the spilled wax drying on his forehead.

-

As Mike restuffs his cardigan-bag with the voice recorder and camera, Bev and Ben split from the group, Ben muttering something about having a rolled joint in his pocket. Mike feels a bit jealous, but then he turns to Stan, who is excitedly chattering with Bill about the pictures of the bright white orbs that they had previously seen at the bottom of Richie’s ghost hunting box. He’s talking with his hands more than his mouth, making exaggerated motions and wriggling his fingers around. Bill says something and Stan smiles, his eyes crinkling and his lips forming dimples on the sides of his face. Mike thinks he can save the weed for later.

He walks up to Bill and Stan, who are quickly joined by Richie and Eddie. Stan makes eye contact with him and asks, “Are we ready spooksters?” Mike can’t help but let out a breathy laugh. He nods through muffled giggling and they begin to walk into the zoo of bushes and trees.

They make it into the woods quickly, only having to walk around the walkway. None of them know what time it is, but judging by the obvious presence of the moon and the dew gathering on the tips of their shoes, it’s not early enough to be out fucking around in the middle of nowhere. About ten minutes of them walking through moist grass and orange pine needles have passed when they come across a steep ravine, Eddie groans at the sight and stares at it in disgust.

“Eds, don’t be a pussy,” Richie snickers, pushing a large log over a small gap in the ravine, forming a narrow bridge. Noticing what Richie is doing, Mike and Bill decide to help him place long branches and logs next to the original log. It’s dark outside and somewhat hard for them to locate anything that looks stable enough to handle the weight of five 17-year-old boys, but they eventually get a decent bridge and hop across it.

They continue walking for a bit and few feet away from their shitty handmade bridge, they find what appears to be a partially burnt down building. There are four walls up, but there are large gaps lined with charred edges in every one. The main part of the structure is made dark wooden planks, while the bottom appears to be constructed of large stones. Stan can’t help but gape at the building, it looks like something out of a horrific nightmare. As he and Eddie follow the others as they enter the building, he almost expects some sort of creature with long dark limbs and sharp teeth to pop out from behind a wall and drag its lengthy nails across his back. Mike quickly notices his discomfort and squeezes his shoulder before enclosing one of Stan’s hands in his own. It helps shake the fear of the unknown.

Richie pulls Bev’s lighter out of his pocket and illuminates one of the walls, revealing a vast array of graffiti adorning it. Being Richie, the first thing he does is point the lighter in the direction of a crudely drawn penis and snorts. As he does so, the light from the lighter allows Eddie to see a pentagram drawn right next to the dick and he almost screams. He starts slowly backing out of the building, the look on his face gives away the fact that his brain is definitely recreating a scene from a horror movie. Richie runs over to him and wraps his hands around his neck. “Shhhhh, Eddie, my babiest boy,” Richie comforts, “The ghosties won’t hurt you here,” he continues, shoving Eddie’s head under his armpit and pressing down. Still under Richie’s arm, Eddie loosens one of his arms from the taller boy’s grip, punches his dick and lets out a string of muffled complaints. The hit forces Richie to let go and bend down in pain. Eddie smirks and blows a raspberry at him as soon as he can make eye contact. “You’re no fun Eddibelle,” Richie weakly squeaks out in reply, clutching his groin.

As Richie begins to regain the ability to stand up straight, his eyes go wide and he points to the opening in one of the walls that serve as an entrance. There’s faint rustling and whispering coming from the other side of the shell of the building and Stan visibly freezes up next to Mike. Before Stan’s brain begins to come up with the worst scenarios possible, Bev’s mane of curly hair becomes visible. She walks inside, one hand in Ben’s and the other dragging across the wooden planks that make up the wall closest to her.

“You imbeciles almost made Stanny boy here piss his pants!” Richie chirps accusingly. Bev and Ben stare at him and blink, almost at the exact same time. “Oh you fucking fools, you had weed on ya didn’t, you?” Richie questions, sounding only a little bit jealous. Smiling slightly, Ben looks at him and lets out a small content yes. Richie grumbles.

-

Since Mike and Bill appeared to be the only people in the group who know the slightest bit about ghost hunting, they set up the motion sensor camera and arranged to take turns recording things with the voice recorder. Bill made sure the tape in the recorder wasn’t broken while Mike balanced the camera on a small pile of rocks, pointing it away from the middle of the building, which is where his friends were fucking around. Neither of the two pieces of equipment was too complex, but the rest of the group was more focused on the small bonfire that Richie was failing to set up.

After quite a bit from Mike, Richie was able to get the fire started, they all gather and sit on one side. Mike quickly rushes to sit next to Stan, laughing as he almost falls into his lap. He leans over Stan’s lap, feeling the back of his head brush against Stan’s shorts the moment Stan brings up his legs to cradle him. “You’re cute, Honeybee,”Mike effuses, staring into Stan’s eyes for about the millionth time that night. Stan doesn’t say anything, he just turns a pretty cherry blossom pink and places his hand on Mike’s chest and starts delicately tracing circles with his finger over his ribs. They stay hypnotized with each other’s soft words and touches but are interrupted when the flash of the camera goes off illuminating the roofless building.

Not knowing how to react, Eddie stands up without registering his movements and let out a choked what the fuck. Bill, being the more attentive one in the group, quickly remembered that they only came to the woods to ghost hunt, so he whips out the recorder and presses the small red record button, hoping to catch at least a small bit of audio. The rest of them, besides Eddie, who is completely losing it and screaming about how the ghosts are going to fucking kill him, Richie, goddammit, immediately shut up and watch as Bill asks questions. He doesn’t get any audible responses and he runs out of questions pretty quickly, so he passes the recorder to Mike and goes back to watching the fire.

-

The night continues to play out, mostly just a repeating cycle of the flash going off, Mike or Bill asking questions that dwindle into thin air and Eddie shrieking wildly about not wanting to get possessed. After a few hours spent pretending to know what they’re doing, Mike catches Stan’s eyelids begin to get droopy and cascade down his eyes on their own. He motions for Stan to lower his head onto his shoulder, letting him rest while Richie and Bev attempt to stomp out the fire.

When they finish, they start making their way back to the truck, most of them beginning to fall asleep. They walk in a comfortable silence, too tired to crack jokes or make witty remarks. Mike holds Stan in front of him most of the time guiding the sleepy boy through the clusters of rocks and leaves. The walk back from the woods to the truck feels so much shorter than it should be, but none of them are going to complain: it just means they’re going to be able to rest in a more pleasant space sooner than imagined.

They go back to their original positions when they get back to the truck, except this time only Richie, Eddie and Mike remain awake, the rest of them zonked out as soon as their rear ends grazed a soft surface in the truck. Mike knows that Eddie is forcing himself to stay awake, wanting to keep Richie company on the ride back home. Mike can feel the sleep tugging at the corners of his eyes, but something in his body refuses to let him go to sleep. Giving up on the idea of rest, he spends the rest of the ride counting the eyelashes fanning across Stan’s cheekbones. He also thinks about kissing him quite a bit, but if anyone asks, he won’t tell. He’s pretty sure everyone knows anyway.

Seeing the farm in front of him had never felt so good for Mike, usually, it meant having to work, but this time all he could associate it with was sleeping for a good four hours, maybe with Stan in his arms. He woke everyone up when Richie pulled into the driveway, shaking their shoulders gently as they struggled to open their eyes. He coaxed them awake by offering them words of comfort and talking to them about their sleeping situation. After they regained consciousness, Mike walked them over to the barn, where they had previously set up the loft as some sort of a sleepover clubhouse. They climbed up one by one up the rickety ladder, Mike going last to help them get up by holding the ladder in place.

Half of the loft was covered in layers of sheets, followed by a few quilts, forming a hard but somewhat comfortable mattress. Along one of the walls, they had a row of pillows they had each decorated during winter break sophomore year when it hadn’t been too cold to sleep in the barn. In a corner, Mike had a pile of fleece blankets along with the stereo his friends had gifted him for his birthday earlier that year. He placed the voice recorder by it, letting it serve as a reminder to listen to the tape in the morning. Finally feeling the sleep begin to reach his entire being, he pulls out the blankets and passes them out, keeping one to himself. He lays down on his usual spot next to Stan, takes a deep breath and allows himself to close his eyes. Stan decides to suddenly wrap his lanky arms around his torso and Mike feels his whole body flush. Mike opens his eyes slowly as Stan kisses his forehead and whispers adoringly, “You’re cute too Honeybee.”

With that, Mike’s body finally allows him to sleep and prepare for the day ahead of him.


End file.
